


Save the Last Dance

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Backstory, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this post : http://alianne.tumblr.com/post/130275246051/lookninjas-that-is-the-look-of-a-son-who-he-has</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save the Last Dance

As a little girl, Pamela Navarro loved nothing more than to dance.

With a tutu in class or just spinning around with her _Tatay_ while her _Nanay_ laughed and clapped her hands, nothing brought her more joy.

As a teenager, that passion was still alive in her heart, and she started planning a future where dancing would be her whole life.

And then she met Georges Anderson.

Tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, the young man was a living representation of the perfect American man. Athletic yet nerdy, he turned out to be quite shy in his courting, trying to follow her when she danced and mostly standing like a tall and strong barre, and Pamela--Pamela couldn’t resist that shy smile and long eyelashes.

Georges never asked to put her dreams on hold--if anything, he loved watching her dance and he was the one to offer to follow her to New York for their respective undergraduate programs.

But Fate had another plan in mind, by bringing Cooper into their lives when they didn’t quite expect him.

Pamela wouldn’t have it any other way, though: Cooper is a lively baby, all smiles and dimples and chirps, and taking care of him quickly becomes her whole world.

In the years that follow, Pamela still dances, with Cooper on her hip, with Georges once Cooper falls asleep, but she has her Nanay’s pragmatic mind.

Georges is still interning, and while his future looks pretty bright, she knows that she has to do her part to keep them afloat.

With her charisma and her ability to sense people’s needs, Pamela quickly becomes one of the prized sellers at the makeup counter at the Mall.

But that doesn’t mean that she stops dancing, far from it.

Whenever the mood strikes, actually, she dances--be it at the supermarket, her hips shaking while she peruses the alleys, booping Blaine’s little nose in the trolley to make him giggle and twirling Cooper like he’s her dance partner, or in the car when she drives her boys to school.

Cooper mostly dances along, dangerously playing with his seatbelt, and Blaine--

Blaine looks at her with serious eyes, sucking on his pacifier and tilting his head to the side. It’s adorable, but it reminds Pamela of the judges at the dance competitions she used to attend.

It’s not the look of a little boy looking up at his mama; it’s the look of a little boy trying to learn her moves and cataloguing them for future use.




When Cooper tells her that he wants to be an actor, Pamela is thrilled, because that means that her handsome boy has inherited her artistic streak, but also a bit worried because it’s her job to worry for her sons’ future.

She shares her worries with Georges, but his scoff of derision and his “it won’t last, he will make a smarter decision soon enough” are like slaps in her face.

“He’s passionate, Georges,” she insists, “we should show him that he has our support.”

“Why?”

She nearly chokes on air. “Because that’s our job, Georges,” she says coldly, forcing him to look up from his newspaper--and when did he take to read his paper in bed instead of looking at her and loving her? How did she let that happen?--, “to be by his sides even if he chooses a path we wouldn’t have chosen for ourselves.”

A path you wouldn’t have chosen, that’s for sure.

“No,” Georges says, reopening his paper like it’s a judge’s gavel in a courtroom, “our job is to guide him to make smart decisions.”

“And that’s it?” Pamela asks angrily.

“And that’s it.”

“Now you listen to me, Georges Tate Anderson,” she says, voice shaking with her sudden anger--on her own younger behalf or on Cooper’s is to be determined later--, “you are not God in this household, you do not get to make all the decisions.”

“I don’t?”

“No, you don’t. If Cooper wants to be an actor, you get to smile and tell him that you believe in him.”

“Oh really?”

“If you don’t want to start sleeping in your study, yes you do!”

Georges scoffs and turns to turn off his lamp. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he says, adding quietly, “when you calm down.”

This night, Pamela goes to sleep in Georges’ study.




Things quiet down when Cooper shows how determined he is about his career, and Georges is forced to see that nothing will change his mind about it.

The two men go to Los Angeles to help Cooper settle down, and Pamela spends the week-end with Blaine, the two dancing around the house and eating cookies and fruits.

Pamela starts thinking about taking dance classes once again when Blaine starts middle school--after all, Georges’ salary is more than enough now, and she has more time for herself.

And then Blaine comes out to them, in his quiet voice and uncertain smile.

Pamela’s first instinct is disbelief.

 _Her_ son? Her cute, adorable, gentleman of son?

Gay?

But … _why_?

Blaine’s eyes are filled with tears, but he straightens up, squaring his shoulders as he explains to them that he’s sorry, that he didn’t want to disappoint them.

And that, more than anything, is enough to send her disbelief away, taken over by her unconditional love for him, for her son that looks so much like her.

“Oh honey,” she starts, but Georges silences her with a hand held in front of her.

“Go to your room,” he tells Blaine coldly. “Immediately.”

Blaine’s mouth forms a thin, straight line, and he simply nods before running up to his room, slamming the door closed.

“What was that?” Pamela asks, and Georges is the one turning to her with surprised eyes.

“What was what?” he replies. “We can’t let him do that, Pam!”

“Do what? Be gay?” she exclaims. “It’s not like he decided to try out a new hair color, Georges!”

Georges scoffs, standing up and pacing the room. “My son will not be gay,” he says, voice shaking. “He will not--,” he starts again, and to Pamela’s surprise, he crumples to a nearby seat, shoulders shaking with dry sobs. “He can’t…,” he tries, but his sobbing stops him.

Pamela goes to stand behind him and puts her hands on his shoulders. “He is, love,” she says softly. “And he is about to face the world with that weight on his shoulders.”

“All I want is for him to be happy,” Georges says softly. “To have an easy life, to find love …”

“And he will,” Pamela says, moving to face him, taking his face in her hands. “But he needs to know that we’re on his side, not against him.”

Georges sighs, leaning into her touch. “I can try.”

“That’s all I ask of you,” she replies, kissing his forehead. “Come here.”

With all of her strength, she pulls him to his feet and into a hug, her hands on his shoulders and putting his hands on her waist.

Some music drifts from Blaine’s room--he probably put it as loud as possible to annoy them, but it’s one of Pamela’s discs that he picked--and Pamela starts swaying on the spot.

“Dance with me,” she whispers, and Georges lets out a wet chuckle.

“I could never keep up with you,” he replies, voice soft too.

“Dance with me.”

“Okay.”




If Pamela thought that they had found a common ground, united behind Blaine and against the world, she is sorely mistaken.

A visit from a young woman at work, while she’s half out of her mind worrying about Blaine not waking up from the hateful attack he has been through, is the final nail on the coffin of her marriage, and she doesn’t even bother with a fight.

“Get out,” she says, voice barely above a whisper as her fingers tighten around one of Georges’ whisky glasses.

“Pamela, I can exp--”

“Get. Out.”

Georges looks almost relieved to escape, telling her that he will come by later to pick up the rest of his stuff before closing the door, and Pamela sighs into her glass.

Her older son is across the country.

Her younger son is in an hospital bed.

Her marriage is over.

What does she have left?

Her eyes drift to the massive entertainment center and to her discs collection.

No matter what, she still has music.

And dancing.

Picking a disc at random, she puts it in the player and sips more of her drink.

“ _She keeps Moët et Chandon_

_In her pretty cabinet_

_'Let them eat cake,' she says_

_Just like Marie Antoinette .._.”

Ah, Queen. Perfect.

Setting the glass on top of one of Georges’ precious books, Pamela closes her eyes and starts moving her body in time with the music, letting Freddie Mercury’s voice move her limbs until she is crossing the living room in an entrechat and finishing with a twirl.

And then the phone rings, waking her up from the trance of dancing she had forgotten.

“Yes, Anderson residence?” she says, just a bit breathless.

_“Mrs. Anderson? This is St. Ann’s Hospital.”_

Blaine.

“Yes?”

_“Your son has woken up and is asking for you.”_

Pamela makes a sound that is half laughter and half sob. “Oh my God.”

_“I’ll tell him that you’re on your way?”_

“Yes, yes, of course! Thank you!”

As she gets ready, Pamela is halfway through a text to Georges to let him know when she freezes.

Oh, right.

And then she shakes her head--no matter what, Georges is still Blaine’s father, and he deserves to know, to be relieved of that worry like she was.

On her way to the hospital, she keeps humming the melody of “Killer Queen” and taps its beat to her wheel.




“Mom …”

Pamela is dancing behind her wheel as she drives Blaine to Dalton Academy. “Come on, Blainey-bee, sing with me!”

“Mom, you’re going to get us in a ditch …”

“ _I’m gonna wait til the stars comes out,_

 _And see that twinkle in your eyes_ … Come on, baby!” she sings, turning her head to look at Blaine and cup his cheek.

Blaine laughs but bats her hand away. “Mom, eyes on the road!”

She gives him a pointed look, and Blaine smiles, rolling his eyes.

“ _I’m gonna wait til the midnight hour,_ ” he sings with an exasperated look on his face, “ _That’s when my love begins to shi-ine…_ ”

It’s the first smile Pamela has seen on his face in the past month.

If it takes her to be ridiculous and dance behind the wheel, she’ll choreograph all of the music on Earth.




_“I made lead!”_

Pamela smiles over the phone, putting the divorce papers away for a moment and focuses on Blaine.

“I’m so proud of you, _anak_ ,” she replies. “Lots of competitions to come?”

“ _Yeah_!” Blaine exclaims, apparently unable to bottle up his emotions. “ _And I’ll have to prepare the choreography with the Council!_ ”

“That’s great!”

“ _I have to go_ ,” he says breathlessly, “ _but I wanted to let you know!_ ”

“Thank you, baby,” she replies, willing herself not to cry.

“ _Love you_ , nanay.”

“Love you more.”

Blaine hangs up, but not before Pamela catches several enthusiastic voices calling his name.

It’s good that he has friends, and that he’s getting his confidence back.

But she can’t help but snicker when she thinks about Blaine arranging dance routines for a dozen or so gangly teenagers.

Yeah, what a sight it will be.

\---

Naturally, Pamela attends the Warblers’ Regionals competition, waving a sign of support amongst the other parents.

When Blaine and Kurt walk on the stage, she immediately sees that there is something different.

She has met Kurt on many occasions, when the pair came home to do their homeworks or just watch movies, and she could see from a mile away that the young man was utterly besotted with her son, just like she could see that Blaine was either completely oblivious to it, or doing a good show of hiding it.

But now?

Now Blaine is not hiding anything, all of his feelings for Kurt clear for the whole world to see.

Oh, it could be just a performance trick, but Pamela knows her son, and he wouldn’t be able to fake it so well.

So that’s what Blaine looks like when he’s in love.

Uh.

Why are they singing a break-up song, if they just got together?

And why didn’t Blaine tell her?!

Never mind, it’s time for their group song, and Pamela wants to see her son’s choreographer talent.

She can’t help but snort at the “arrangement”, but it works, and it’s energetic, and Blaine’s enthusiasm is so contagious that the whole room is standing on their feet.

It’s all that matters, isn’t it?

\---

Pam comes home one day in July to music being played so loud she can’t even distinguish what song it is.

And Kurt and Blaine are dancing in the living room in tank tops and shorts.

Well, dancing.

In a minute, she’s going to turn the music off and enjoy the way they’re bound to get all red in the face and all sheepish.

In a minute, though, because it’s a thing of beauty.

Kurt and Blaine have their eyes closed, smiles on their faces, hands either lift in the air or caressing each other’s arms, and it’s so heartwarming that Pam almost lets them be.

Except, where is the fun in that?

“Hello, boys! Decided to have a party?”

Ah, the quiet enjoyment parents everywhere can get when they embarrass their kids.

\---

For a while, Pam finds a balance in her life : she works, she tends to her garden, she goes out and meets men--and some women too, why didn’t she try that aspect of her sexuality before--but she misses the purity of the joy she got when she danced.

So she finds dance lessons, in a studio above a bowling alley, and she takes her time going through the different dance classes.

And then, Blaine and Kurt come back to Ohio for a couple of months.

Blaine tells her over tea and biscuits that since they have started the whole process of getting Rachel pregnant with their baby, they both took some time off, and where else to gather their wits and get some peace than back home with their parents.

“I’m glad to have you back,” Pam says, reaching to cup Blaine’s face like she used to do when he was still smaller than her. “But don’t think that I will cancel all of my plans just because you’re here,” she adds haughtily, unable to keep from smiling.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blaine replies, smiling over the rim of his cup. “We have our own program, don’t worry.”

“Good.”

That doesn’t mean that Pam isn’t shocked to see Kurt stretching in “her” classroom one Tuesday afternoon.

“Kurt?” she calls and he straightens up with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he starts, blushing like he’s still that teenager she would catch sneaking out of Blaine’s room and not her son-in-law, “I know I told Blaine I wanted to put everything on hold, after all the work we put in Virginia Woolf, but I got a call just before we left about getting a role in Moulin Rouge--”

“Oh my God that’s amazing, I’m so proud of you!”

“... oh, thank you, but Blaine doesn’t know yet, and I know that the tango is really not my forte, so I wanted to use those … forced holidays--”

“To practice?”

For some reason, Kurt turns a darker shade of red at that comment, but he nods anyway. “Can you keep it from Blaine? I want to be the one to tell him!”

“Sure,” Pam says, patting his shoulder. “As long as you partner up with me and that we don’t tell him about those classes until the very last moment?”

“What very last moment?”

Pam raises one eyebrow at him. “Well, the exhibition show, at the end of the program?”

Kurt closes his eyes and sighs. “I should have read the fine prints,” he mumbles before forcing a smile on his face. “Well, partner, are you ready?”

He holds his hand up and extends one arm, back as straight as an arrow, and Pam cannot resist his boyish charm.

Putting her hand in his and folding her leg over his hip she looks up at him. “I was born ready.”




Along their classes together, Kurt keeps commenting on how so many things about Blaine are clearer now that he knows her, and Pam stashes away all the little things Kurt shares about Blaine, about their lives together, about married life.

“He looks up to you, you know,” Kurt says one afternoon after class, for what’s become their traditional coffee and muffins. “That’s why he’s so focused on dancing, why he’s such a good dancer.”

Pam blushes and decides to stay silent, munching on a blueberry.

“I’m not … I’m nothing special”, she replies when Kurt stays silent, his eyes piercing through her.

“You’re his model,” Kurt says, in his definite way. “Don’t underestimate that, you’re the reason my husband is the man he’s today.”

It’s so weird, that sentence-- “ _my husband_ ”, when talking about her precious baby.

“If you say so,” she simply comments, preening a little, and Kurt laughs quietly.

“You’re so much alike,” he simply says, gathering crumbles with a finger. “Thank you … _Nanay_.”

She can tell that he tries the word, to see how she’ll react, but Pam is too focused on not weeping like a baby at the show of affection.

Kurt is such a private young man, keeping his guard up unless he’s completely at ease--she knows that in the use of the Tagalog, Kurt is letting all of his walls down, to let her in, and that’s a precious gift.

“You’re welcome, _mahal_.”

\---

They tell Blaine about the show, and he alternates between berating them for not telling him sooner and being excited for them and to get to see them perform.

They keep to themselves the fact that they are dancing together.

Blaine’s face when he sees his mother wrapping herself around his husband’s body?

Priceless.

Pam’s face when Blaine pulls Kurt by his waistcoat for a searing kiss?

Priceless.

Kurt’s face when Blaine lets him go?

Definitely priceless (and recorded for the future generations).

Their faces when a tall man, with dark yet greying hair and blue eyes approaches Pam and asks for a second dance?

No word could describe them accordingly.

 


End file.
